The Palmetto Weevil

The palmetto weevil sings the earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof. God what a horror to behold.

I am heavy with death and the tragedy of words. I sift it through my past and my body in the race to build some kind of arc.

But the fullness will not be mined. It will abound, and till me into the soil. Not for love or meaning’s sake.

The weevil knows this. She in her crushing beauty buzzes along the ground sniffing with her tawdry rostrum for the soon-to-be-tits-up saw palmetto. She has no hunger for cohesion. Her life is a pile of discrepant events that end in buried eggs and dead palmettos.

God is not mocked, or praised, or mentioned. And everything is torn away in the great churning. God what a horror to behold the palmetto weevil.